


The Captive Dragon

by desibee



Series: Here There Be Dragons [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragonlock, Guardians of the Flame, M/M, Sherlock is a Dragon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 16:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13791390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desibee/pseuds/desibee
Summary: Fantasy AU based on Joel Rosenberg's Guardians of the Flame series.  In which John Watson returns from war with no sense of purpose and ends up stealing a clever dragon and going on adventures.





	The Captive Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on a book series by Joel Rosenberg that I urge any fantasy fans to read. The first chapter is very heavily based on The Sleeping Dragon, with some descriptions and plot borrowed from the book with various differences. Subsequent chapters will branch off into a different story. Enjoy!

“John, come take a look at this!”

His sister’s voice, loud and reckless with the wine she’d indulged in earlier, cut through the noise of the market and made John wince, shoulders hunching reflexively. He still wasn’t used to the crowds here. And the chaos. Everything comes to Pandathaway, was a well-known saying back home but he’d thought it a bit of an exaggeration. Now, being surrounded by the pushing crowd, dodging horse dung and begging urchins at every step, it didn’t seem like ‘everything’ was such a stretch. He caught sight of Harry’s brightly coloured tunic by an ironworkers stall and shoved his way through the throngs of people to follow her.

_‘Used to be, folks would get out of the way when I walked past.’_

A lot of things used to be. No sense dwelling on things he couldn’t change.

Shoulders relaxing as the crowd thinned a little, John watched Harry heft a jeweled necklace in her hand and hold it up to the light, as if to inspect the quality of the gems. He wasn’t sure what good that would do, as neither of them would be able to tell a real emerald from a magicked piece of cut glass.

“I didn’t think you liked jewelry,” he said, frowning.

“I don’t. But Clara does, and I could use the brownie points. She’s still a bit miffed at me for the whole night’s watch incident last week.”

The ‘night’s watch incident’ was a tidy way to put ‘getting thrown out of an inn and almost arrested’, wasn’t it? John snorted and folded his arms.

“A bit miffed? She moved out. I don’t think a few shiny baubles are going to convince her that you’ve reformed here.”

That provoked a glare as vicious as any dagger-strike, followed by a look of hurt that John felt guilty about until he recalled that bailing his dear, drunken sister out of the city prison was the entire reason he was in Pandathaway to begin with. Well. That and…

John rubbed at the sudden twinge in his shoulder and leaned against the stall, convinced now that the entire outing had been a terrible idea. He was on edge, self-conscious and taking it out on his sister. Harry might be foolish and short-sighted but it didn’t give him the right to snap at her, especially on a subject as sensitive as Clara. At least Harry had attempted to have a relationship. She’d built a life for herself in Pandathaway. What did John have, besides a dodgy leg and a useless sword arm?

‘And a truly disgraceful amount of self-pity.’

“I need some air,” John muttered as he pushed back into the crowd, ignoring Harry’s puzzled calling of his name.

A few turns later, John found himself in the back alleys, far from the busy hum of the marketplace. The quiet helped clear his thoughts a little, though it didn’t help the ache in his leg or the way his chest felt tight and hot with anxiety. Taking a few deep breaths turned out to be a bad idea, as the alley didn’t exactly smell wonderful. In fact, it smelled a little bit like sewage, rank and thick which an undercurrent of…sulphur?  
A flickering glow in the opposite direction of the sun limned the rooftops in gold and formed strange shadows on the walls. Curious, John followed the light through the twisting corridors, finally coming to something that looked almost like an aqueduct except that the substance running through the channel was quite obviously sewage. Why would a great city like Pandathaway collect its sewage so close to the town center? Even the little nothing town John grew up in made sure to tunnel the waste waters away into the outskirts of the township instead of keeping it close and pungent. Then again, for being the central sewer it certainly didn’t stink as much as it should. 

A gout of flame suddenly roasted the slop to John’s right and what he’d thought was a mound of garbage shifted and growled.

*Staring is rude, human.*

_‘Fuck…oh fuck, what the FUCK—’_

*And so is your language. Disgraceful.*

A tail uncoiled, scales so dark a green they were almost black glittering beneath the muck and foul waste clinging to it. John scrambled backwards instinctively, hands reaching for a sword he no longer had.

“You’re a dragon,” he blurted out, the absurdity of the words twisting his lips into a grimace. There were no more dragons, not in any areas populated by humans. Dragon hunting had gone out of style when John was a boy, having been either hunted into virtual extinction or driven out into elven territory and magical wastelands where humans didn’t dare to venture. How in the world had this one managed to survive here in the heart of Pandathaway?

*Yes, I am a dragon. And you are John Watson. And this the ground. Are all humans this stupid or are you more dimwitted than most?”

The dragon slapped its tail into the mud, sending a splash of it into the air where it promptly got flamed into ashes. John got the distinct impressive that the dragon would’ve been rolling its eyes at him if it could.

_‘How do you know my name? Can you read minds?’_

*Of course I can read minds. I know a lot more than just your name. I know you’re a soldier recently invalided home and dismissed from service due to a grievous arrow wound to your shoulder. Your sister welcomed you home but you’re hesitant to stay with her, possibly because she drinks far too much, more likely because of her strained relationship with her lover Clara who likes you far more than she should and who thinks your limp is psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid. Satisfied?*

The information rained down on him like hailstones, pummeling him with the pain of the arrow thumping into bone and muscle, the sound of Harry’s slurred accusations as he bailed her out of the squalid little cell she’d been sent to sober up in, the scent of Clara’s perfume when she hugged him goodbye. Dizzy, John stumbled forward and leaned on the fencing that separated the dragon and the sewage basin surrounding it from the rest of the space.

“You’re a sodding _telepathic_ dragon. What the hell are you doing here?”

*Your wizards captured me when I was but an egg and when I was old enough to make flame they brought me here and chained me.* 

The dragon tilted its head back to show the golden circlet around its neck and the chained links leading down into the basin, clamped firmly to the ground. It didn’t look nearly strong enough to hold a dragon.

*Idiot. It’s magic, of course. If I try to melt the chain or pull myself free it burns me.*

John felt a searing pain around his neck and almost screamed aloud, but the agony was smothered before he could lift his hands to his throat.

_‘DON’T do that again.’_

*I’ll do as I wish to anyone stupid enough to come here and taunt me in my captivity, John Watson. I’ve been here for three hundred years. Three hundred years of sitting in stinking waste, forced to flame it to ash lest I be buried in it. Do you have any idea what that’s like?*

_‘NO,’_ John shouted internally, but it was too late. He was hit in an instant with the memory of sitting in filth, the stench and the sensation causing him to immediately double over and deposit the contents of his stomach into the dirt at his feet. _‘Stop. Fuck, stop it.’_

*Why should I stop it? Your kind brought me to this and yet you’re too cowardly to face the reality of what you’ve done.*

‘Not my kind. I wouldn’t do that.’

There was a pause and then the nausea vanished, leaving John to gasp and wipe his sleeve across his mouth, the smell suddenly muted to something bearable instead of the overwhelming stink it had been. The dragon’s eyes pinned him in place, shifting in colour before seeming to settle into pale blue.

*No.* It reluctantly agreed. *Not your kind. You’ve strong moral principles, I can see. Very well, John Watson. If you’ve not come here to taunt me, they could you perhaps do me a favour?*

_‘A favour?’_

*There are certain compounds available at the market that can dull the senses. Powders and tinctures made by the same kinds of wizards that chained me. It would be ironic indeed to seek comfort from their potions, but they are effective. Those who keep me here have used them before to subdue me while conducting repairs on the aqueduct. If you could get some for me I will repay you.*

John wasn’t sure just what the dragon could repay him with, chained here like this.

*Idiot. Your leg. It’s psychosomatic. If your tiny mind would just stop obsessing over how useless you feel then you would be able to walk freely. I can easily solve that problem. You aren’t useless, you’ve simply need to find something to do that utilizes your many skills. You’re clearly acclimatized to danger, you’re meeting a dragon and your hands aren’t shaking at all. This entire time you’ve been calm when other men would’ve been running away, gibbering in terror. You’re brave, John. That’s a very useful skill if you know how to channel it. You might not be able to take your previous place as Captain of the Guard with that shoulder wound but you’ve not forgotten how to swing a sword or throw a dagger. Obviously you should concentrate your attentions on finding another position where you can serve and protect. Perhaps as a personal bodyguard. I daresay, you’d do pretty well.*

“Brilliant,” John breathed, standing straighter in the face of such bluntly stated praise. “That was amazing.”

The dragon blinked and tilted its head, looking for all the world like an overgrown puppy.

*Was it? That isn’t what people normally say.*

“What do they normally say?”

*Help, it’s a dragon.*

A laugh burst from John’s mouth at the dry sarcasm in the dragon’s delivery and he had to tamp down on a fit of giggles, shoulders shaking with the effort. The dragon flicked its tail, seeming pleased and somewhat bewildered by John’s amusement.

*So, will you get me those potions then?*

The laughter died in his throat and John’s shoulders straightened. He looked at the dragon where it shifted in the muck, discomfort keeping it moving restlessly, burn marks evident on the scaled neck where it had tried repeatedly to free itself, despite only burning its own flesh more and more each time. John’s hands clenched into fists.

“No.”

*No?! Why not? Then you’re just like all the rest, aren’t you? I knew it! Humans are all so stupid—what are you doing?*

_‘Shouldn’t you already know? You can read minds, can’t you?’_ John thought back as tested his weight on the bottom rung of the fence with his good leg before climbing up.

*I can, but you’re strange. You aren’t thinking like a normal human would.*

_‘Maybe I’m not all that normal then. Just don’t distract me, alright? If my leg gives out in the middle of this it’s not going to help either of us.’_

*I won’t, I promise. Oh John, are you really going to do it? You’ll really help me? Oh please, please, please.*

_‘QUIET,’_ John thought as loud as he could. _‘You flame when you’re excited and I’ll be burnt toast if you don’t settle down.’_

*My flame could never harm you, John Watson. Please hurry.*

_‘Hush…’_

John was over the fence now, dropping down with a splash into the sewage which squelched into his boots and nearly suffocated him with its stench. Breathing shallowly through his mouth, John waded towards the center of the basin where the chain was bolted down. He didn’t have his sword, but the dagger in his holster had a sturdy enough pommel and the chain links didn’t look very strong in and of themselves. Their magic was what held the dragon, not their strength.

John hesitated upon touching the chain, remembering the pain that had echoed in his head and through his nerve endings as the dragon transmitted its memories to him of trying to break the chain. But John was human and the wizards that captured the dragon weren’t expecting a human to care enough to mess with the city’s sewage system. 

Besides. If he was to be useless now, at least he could do one last good thing with his life and protect a creature who was wondrous and brilliant and who deserved to be free.

_‘What’s your name, anyway? I can’t keep calling you ‘dragon’,’_ he asked as he drew his dagger and knelt in the murky sludge.

*Sherlock. Oh yes, please. John, you’re stupendous-*

_‘Sherlock, then. It was nice to meet you,’_ John thought, and then gripped the chain. Nothing happened, no burning, no pain. There was still no pain when he brought the butt of the dagger down on the chain, nor when—on the seventh strike—the link finally broke.

The dragon, _Sherlock_ , reared and spread its wings so wide that it sent a wave of filth over John, knocking him back into the water.

*Free!*

Sherlock roared, tossing its head and flapping its wings twice before rising into the air, sludge dripping off of the scales to reveal a long, sleekly scaled form. John thought for an instant that the dragon would immediately fly off, eager to be away from the site of its captivity for so many years, but Sherlock hovered in the air for a few minutes before sending a stream of flame directly at John.  
He only had time to gasp before the flames hit him, but it didn’t burn his skin or blacken his hair. His clothes weren’t even singed! The coating of sewage on his clothing, however, crinkled into ashes and floated away leaving him clean as if he’d just stepped out of the bath. The next jet of flame covered Sherlock’s own body, peeling away centuries of waste in an instant and leaving the scales shining and sparkling like obsidian in the sun. The golden collar and the rest of the chains fell away into slag at John’s feet.

_‘You’re so beautiful,’_ was John’s dazed thought before he realized that anyone looking out their window right now would be able to see Sherlock floating in his full glory above the sewage basin. _‘We need to get out of here before someone sees you!’_

*No need to panic,* Sherlock said. *I’m very clever, you know. I’m not going to let us get caught.*

And then it seemed like the dragon folded into itself, wings wrapping around the scaled body and shrinking down until it was no larger than John himself. When the wings unwrapped, there was a young man standing there instead, quite naked, with dark curly hair and strange pale eyes. The wings settled over his shoulder like a leathery cloak.

“…Sherlock?” John ventured, gaze settled determinedly on the burn scars marring the man’s pale neck instead of—well, elsewhere.

“Who else would it be?” Sherlock sniffed, the words emerging hesitantly, like he knew the language but had a little trouble with the workings of human lips and tongue.

“I didn’t know dragons could take on human forms.”

“Of course you didn’t. How do you think so many dragons survived the great hunt? Ah. You didn’t think any dragons had survived the great hunt, did you. Well, not many did, but there are still more of us among your lands then you might expect. Now, shall we go? The ambience here leaves much to be desired.”

“You’re not wearing any pants,” John pointed out, feeling all of a sudden like he might fall into a fit of giggles again. “Dragon or human, you’re still going to attract a lot of attention wandering around without any pants on.”

“Oh for God’s sake, find me some pants then, if they’re so important. But be quick about it. They’re going to notice that the sewage is building up eventually.”

Sherlock huffed and then lightly vaulted over the fence, wings rustling in a cloud of ashes. John followed somewhat less gracefully and wondered what his life had come to that he was following a naked dragon through the back alleys of Pandathaway.

“Definitely not boring,” he muttered under his breath, a grin quirking the corners of his lips.

"Come along, John!" Sherlock called, now striding further down the alley like he was out for a casual errand. With no pants.

"Coming!" John said, moving hastily to catch up. It was only when he reached the other man that he realized that he wasn't limping at all, and hadn't been since he made the decision to step into the dragon's prison.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do let me know if you'd like me to continue. I'm out of practice in fanfic writing so it's taken a while to get back on the horse, so to speak!


End file.
